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Good Morning. My name is Paul Bognar. At this time of year I'm
also known as a Grinch, a grouch, a humbug, party pooper, and worst of all for
December, Ebenezer Scrooge. Unlike the Grinch, my shoes aren't too tight, my head's
screwed on right (mostly), and my heart isn't three sizes too small. You see, I
don't like Christmas.
Oh, there are many things I don't like: Barbara Streisand movies, parsnips, gangsta
rap,... It's OK for me to dislike things like that. But because I don't like
Christmas, people feel the need to try to change my mind. Almost every
Christmas movie or special on television portrays someone like me: someone who
dreads Christmas. Those stories always are about redemption. The character has lost
the "spirit of Christmas," because they've lost something from their
childhood, or lost a love, or a family member. The poor soul needs to rediscover the
magic of the season to be saved. These are tales of intolerance. It is just not
acceptable in our culture to dislike Christmas, thus the need for redemption.
At this time of year, when people are supposed to be filled with "joy,"
when we are meant to have heard angels sing, when we are to give generously and
perfectly the equivalent of leaping lords and golden rings, all the while listening
to bells jingling on a silent night, my halls are decked with ever darkening grey. A
cloud of dread, the grey of seasonal affective disorder, often the blackness of
depression. Fa la la la la.
Many people think that a blue Christmas is for those who can't enjoy the holiday
because they're grieving, or lonely, or poor. I've been all of those, and I want to
say that while those conditions didn't help, neither are they the cause of my blue
Christmases.
Thirty years ago, still a teenager, I was walking home very late on a Christmas Eve.
A heavy snow was falling, all was quiet. Three blocks from home, warm light poured
from the window of the old house at the corner of Dunkirk and Rosedale avenues in
Hamilton. Inside, I could see the Christmas tree, lights and candles, and a young
man and woman dancing the polka. The young man and woman were looking into each
other's eyes, and laughing, laughing with joy and love. Somehow I knew, even then,
that I would always be outside the window at Christmas, that this was a time for
others, but not for me.
I suppose I have many reasons for not liking Christmas. It is absolutely impossible
to ignore. It's too commercial, too tiring, too expensive. It takes up too much of
the year (did you notice that decorations appeared before thanksgiving this year?).
Wassailing when I don't drink alcohol. The stress of not spoiling the holidays of
those I love. And the carols. Endlessly reminding me of a saviour that isn't mine,
in a religion I've long left behind, pressing Christmas spirit on me, demanding
seasonal joy from me, turned on as if a faucet.
And then there are the truly painful holidays. Five Christmases ago, I faced my
first Yule alone, ever. My marriage had broken up, and for the first time in almost
twenty years, I would not see my daughters on Christmas. I bought my usual tree, and
since I had no decorations for it, I improvised with odds and ends . I went to the
Christmas Eve service at First Unitarian Hamilton. I sang Christmas carols whose
theology meant nothing to me anymore. I spent most of the day alone in my apartment,
only one or two people phoned to wish me "Merry Christmas." I drove to my
sister's for dinner with her family. Her invitation was a caring, loving thing to
do, but because I was not normally part of their holiday celebrations, I was the
fifth wheel. I coped and I survived. And each holiday season since only brings back
painful memories of the last days of my marriage, of the Christmases I spend without
my children, and of my parents, both now deceased.
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I don't have to justify not liking Christmas.
For me, it is one long Streisand rerun, that I have to endure for nearly
three months every year, served with parsnips instead of popcorn, and a
soundtrack of gangsta rap carols.
Oh, I like turkey, the smell of pine in my home, lights, candles, quiet,
snow, and many other things that one can find at this time of year. But
don't ask me to like Christmas. Don't ask me to explain why I don't like it.
To me, it's the parsnip of holidays. If you like Christmas, I want you to
revel in it, celebrate it and find joy in it as you never have before. But
if you don't like Christmas, or your Christmas this year is too painful to
celebrate, I want you to know you are not alone, and that there are people
who understand and respect you. And a few of us are found here, in this safe
place.
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